"It may be so," said the duchess, "but it is my opinion that a woman among women loves better and more earnestly than a man among men, for she snaps her fingers at your superhuman abnegation, and defends her lover with beak and claws to the last gasp." "You persist, then, in refusing to give Ascanio to Colombe?" "I persist in loving him myself." "So be it. But if you will not yield with good grace, beware! I am somewhat rough when I am roused, and may make you cry out a little in the _mêlée_. You have reflected fully, have you not? You refuse once for all your consent to the union of Ascanio and Colombe." "Most emphatically, yes." "Very good! to our posts!" cried Benvenuto, "for the battle is on." At that moment the door opened and an usher announced the king. XXII A LOVE MATCH François appeared on the threshold, giving his hand to Diane de Poitiers, with whom he had come from the bedside of his sick son. Diane, inspired by her hatred, had a vague feeling that her rival was threatened with humiliation, and did not choose to miss the gratifying spectacle. As for the king, he saw nothing, suspected nothing; he believed Madame d'Etampes and Benvenuto to be entirely reconciled, and as he saw them talking together when he entered, he saluted them both at once, with the same smile, and the same inclination of the head. "Good morrow, my queen of beauty; good morrow, my king of artists," he said; "what are you talking about so confidentially? You seem both to be deeply interested." "Mon Dieu! Sire, we are talking politics," said Benvenuto. "And what particular subject exercises your faculties? Tell me, I beg." "The question which engrosses everybody at present, Sire," continued the goldsmith. "Ah! the Duchy of Milan." "Yes, Sire." "Well, what were you saying of it?" "We do not agree, Sire; one of us maintains that the Emperor might well refuse to give you the Duchy of Milan, and yet redeem his promise by giving it to your son Charles." "Which of you makes that suggestion?" "I think that it was Madame d'Etampes, Sire." The duchess became pale as death. "If the Emperor should do that, it would be infamous treachery," said François; "but he'll not do it." "In any event, even if he does not do it," said Diane, joining in the conversation, "it will not be, I am assured, for lack of advice given him to that effect." "Given by whom?" cried the king. "By Mahomet's belly! I would be glad to know by whom?" "Bon Dieu! do not be so disturbed, Sire," rejoined Benvenuto; "we said that as we said other things,--simple conjectures, put forward by us in desultory talk. Madame la Duchesse and I are but bungling politicians, Sire. Madame la Duchesse is too much of a woman to think of aught beside her toilet, although she has no need to think of that; and I, Sire, am too much of an artist to think of aught beside art. Is it not so, Madame la Duchesse?"